


Advice Over Coffee

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Fluff, Prompt Fic, definitely not official canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1965717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets some unexpected advice while ordering coffees. Written for JWP #15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advice Over Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Possibly not as cracky as it could be, but pretty cracky. This might make more sense if you read [Advice Over Drinks](http://archiveofourown.org/works/687773) first. Then again, it might not. You certainly might recognize another pair of characters here. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> JWP #15: Cracktastic! It's that time again. Be as crazy as you want to be in today's entry, the crackier, the better.

“You’ve the look of a man up against a force of nature.”  
  
Sherlock blinked. He was not used to strangers randomly approaching him anywhere, even in a crowded coffee shop. He wasn’t that kind of man. That was John. Scowling, Sherlock added just the right amount of milk to John’s coffee, then let it sit while he added sugar to his own, all the while pointedly ignoring the older, old-fashioned man who’d spoken. Experience told him that if he ignored a person, they usually took themselves off with no further trouble.  
  
Not this time. The old man touched his bowler (and who wore bowlers in this day and age?) before peering at him with bright blue eyes remarkably undimmed by age. “Or is it an apology you’re working on?”  
  
The words hit too close for comfort. “Do I look like the kind of man who wants unsolicited advice?” Sherlock snapped.  
  
“No indeed. But you look like just the sort of fellow who could use a friendly word, if only someone is brave enough to offer it.”  
  
“And that would be you.” Sherlock viciously added another sugar to his coffee.  
  
“I recognize the signs.” The old man showed no sign of being offended, and despite himself, Sherlock couldn’t help but listen. “And right now, I’d say you’ve come up against someone else’s determination to do what’s right, no matter how little either of you like it.”  
  
Sherlock almost dropped the wooden stir-stick. He turned and actually _looked_ at the man, taking in every detail: _expensive clothes, not new, well taken care of; bowler worn but well-preserved, with a relatively new coat of waterproofing applied to the felt (haberdasher, or a careful wife?) wedding band carefully polished (definitely a wife) as is the watch-chain properly clipped to his waistcoat (no watch on the wrist) umbrella furled but showing drops from the rain outside; wear patterns suggest umbrella doubles as a walking-stick, old injury affecting gait on the left side…curiously bright blue eyes strangely undimmed by age, confident in what he’s saying._ Sherlock resisted the urge to ask how the man knew; it was entirely too like what John would say to him in similar circumstances. “You experienced a similar situation with your wife at one time,” he said instead. It was a hypothesis, but he stated it as a fact.  
  
The man nodded. “I did, and her honor – doing the right thing – cost us several years. But it all came right in the end.” He picked up his umbrella from where it leaned against the condiment counter and tapped the floor with the ferrule.  “Her honor brought her back to me, too, you see.  She’s true to the bone. If your friend is anything like her, you’d do well to have faith.”  He smiled, a twinkle in his eye brightening as an older woman appeared in the shop door, remarkably attractive and extremely put-together.  _The wife_ , Sherlock saw by the matching ring on her finger and the way a private smile graced her face when she saw the older man. “And that’s my unsolicited advice. Good day, young man.”  
  
He limped off, and the two exited the shop just as John came in. He eased his way past the gentleman with his habitual courtesy, then stopped and stared at the couple as they disappeared out into the London rain. Sherlock saw the umbrella open and caught a glimpse of the man holding it in such a way to shield himself and his wife before they were lost to view.  
  
John shook his head and walked over to Sherlock. “Those two look familiar somehow, but I can’t place them,” he muttered. His eyes focused on the two coffees, and his face broke into a delighted grin. “You bought me a coffee?”  
  
Faith. It was something John had in abundance, along with stubbornness and that innate sense of right and wrong that conformed to no one’s standards but his own, and could not be compromised. Sherlock had none of these traits – except possibly for the stubbornness, although in his case that was really just a firm belief in the soundness of his conclusions – but perhaps it was time to emulate at least that much of John’s character. To trust in his character, as he trusted the man himself. To have faith.  
  
“It’s a simple enough order, John,” he drawled. “Coffee, white, no sugar. It’s not as if I’ve never brought you one before.” He ignored John’s disbelieving huff. “Now come on, we’re due to meet Lestrade, and I know you’re committed elsewhere this evening.”  
  
John took an appreciative sip of his coffee before fitting on a lid. “No worries,” he said easily. “I won’t rush off if you need me.”  
  
Sherlock said nothing, but his coffee wasn’t the only source of warmth he took with him out into the spring rain.  
  
  
*The elderly gentleman offering advice here is none other than John Steed of The Avengers.


End file.
